


The Seven Idiots of the Demon Mist

by Harpokrates



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, M/M, the zabuza/kisame thing is vague and very background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpokrates/pseuds/Harpokrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles, focusing on the Seven Deadly Swordsmen and all of their dumb sidekicks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A week of healing, doctor's orders. If only the doctor could cook and prevent introspective angsting. Takes place after chapter eighteen.

Death at the hands of the Copy-nin would have been preferable to a week of Haku's cooking.

Talented, sure. Deadly, certainly. Loyal, to the death. But Haku had lived most of his life stealing from dumpsters and the bit of his life before that as a boy in a clan household, and had a mother to make him food, and the bit of his life after that eating ration bars. Cooking food was not the boy's forte, but Zabuza was too paranoid to accept food made by anyone else and too injured to make his own. Haku's dinners may have tasted like charcoal and dysentery, but Zabuza could trust the boy to not poison him.

Much.

At least the poisoning was unintentional and Haku had apologized profusely after Zabuza had finished puking up the contents of his stomach into a bowl that the boy had held for him. He was somewhat less concerned with Haku panicking and running for medicine and more so with the fact that he knew he hadn't eaten eel since he'd gone rouge.

But there it was.

Looking at him.

Zabuza sighed and wiped his mouth, standing up. His movements were still jerky and uncertain after Haku (lovingly) threw a couple of needles through his throat, but he managed to walk over to the window (which he hated because they were such an obvious security flaw and how had Gatou not been assassinated yet?) and toss the bowl out of it, eel puke and all. The shrieks of indignation that he hoped came from Gatou's dickish ronin resounded throughout the room, and he sat heavily on the bed, the muscles in his thighs twitching spasmodically. A week into their employment with Gatou, one of the ronin had tried to grope Haku, mistaking him for a woman. Haku had, of course, reacted appropriately and snapped the man's arm.

If Zabuza had had his way, the man would have been tortured to death, then cut into pieces and fed to his friends and relatives. Gatou had forbidden him from murdering any of the people working under him, which was another reason to hate the man, besides oppressing a country, cutting off needed supplies and sending his gang of thugs to threaten and kill random civilians. Needless to say he was still angry and seeing any of the ronin suffer was pleasing.

Yawning, he realized vaguely that his mouth tasted like vomit and Haku's cooking. So, vomit squared. He groaned and stood up again, shuffling towards the small washroom. He reached for his toothbrush, fumbling around until he grabbed it and ignoring the crashing that was probably Haku's collection of fancy soaps he stole from the other spare rooms at Gatou's hideout. After liberally applying toothpaste to the bristles, he proceeded to scrub the fuck out of his teeth. He grinned into the mirror, displaying his vicious pointed teeth and less vicious Foamy Blue Bubblegum toothpaste. There was a reason he didn't let Haku do the shopping anymore.

He spat into the sink, wiping the Foamy Blue Bubblegum remnants off of his mouth. He pulled his upper lip towards his nose and poked his teeth. They were getting dull; he would have to sharpen them soon. He briefly considered telling Haku to sharpen his teeth too, that way they could match, but then thought of the wispy, effeminate boy with a mouth full of teeth only a deranged shark mother could love.

Even Hoshigaki Mako thought the sharpened teeth were weird, and Zabuza was fairly certain that the terrifying giant shark lady that had popped out Kisame was a few degrees crazier than most other jounin. Besides, the Lady Hoshigaki had never liked Haku, sharpened teeth or not. He couldn't remember much from the time he turned eighteen to the time he tried to kill the Mizukage -too many wild mist-nin parties would do that to a man- but he distinctly recalled her asking Kisame if Haku was meant to be lunch the few times he coerced the other swordsman into babysitting. Then she called him girly and tried to get him to bench 250 in an attempt to 'man him up so the little runt won't look like my dinner' Afterwards, Zabuza decided that Haku was old enough to stay at home alone, which greatly reduced the number of shark-based threats on his life.

He was infinitely glad he never went to her for parenting advice.

He dragged himself back to bed, not panting at all from the exertion, because he was a manly man and manly men didn't let little things like foot long needles thrown through their throats slow them down.

A crashing at the door and the screams of several henchmen resounded throughout the room. Haku was back.

The door slammed open, leaving a lovely doorknob-shaped hole in the wall. Zabuza thought he could see two terrified ronin frozen during a game of slap jack through it before they ran for cover.

Haku stepped in and pulled a mason jar of fluorescent green goop from his basket. Kicking the door shut (and leaving a few more dents in the door frame), he dragged a chair over to Zabuza's bed and sat down.

"Zabuza-sama, I have brought medicine." Haku did that thing that he did that made it seem like he was smiling even though Zabuza couldn't see his face behind the mask, and handed the jar to him.

He grunted in reply and took the jar. Haku might not have been able to tell the difference between cooked and a slab of raw bloody meat, but he was a hunter-nin, and could dance his way around the human body like Zabuza could a sword kata. If he gave Zabuza medicine that he said would work, Zabuza would take it. It was both a testament to his trust and a sign that he relied too much in his tool.

"So," He muttered after choking the concoction down. "why do Gatou's hordes run screaming whenever you're around?"

Haku pulled off the mask and took the jar. "I have done nothing that would be considered immoral by you." He sounded terse.

Zabuza leveled a stare at him. "I killed my entire graduating class and attempted to kill the Mizukage in a failed coup d'etat."

"Yes, Zabuza-sama"

Zabuza sat up on his elbow. "Brat, tell me you didn't kill anyone. I couldn't care less, but Gatou threatened he would alert the Third to our location if we killed any of his ronin."

Haku huffed a little. "I have not killed anyone."

"Goddamn, kid, I-just. Look, I'm not in the mood to play 'let Zabuza-sama ask questions until I stop being a bitch and answer him'. Tell me what you did."

Haku wilted a little at his tone. "Gatou's men were being obscene and saying vulgar things about Zabuza-sama." His voice had gone flat, which meant he was hideously embarrassed about what he said and just wanted to fume alone where no one could bother him. "I broke the ringleader's wrist and threatened him with his sword."

Zabuza took this to mean he'd probably dashed and grabbed the man's sword and also maybe used the ice mirrors.

Haku looked down, clearly ashamed. "I apologize, Zabuza-sama." His voice was barely above a whisper. "I have fail-"

"Look," Zabuza cut him off. "you don't need to apologize to me, just don't do anything that stupid again."

"Seriously, Zabuza-sama, you really need to-"

Zabuza threw a pillow at his head. It hit his face with a 'paft' and fell to the floor at his feet.

Haku only looked a little offended.

Zabuza rolled over.

"So, brat, did Gauto find out?"

"Yes, Zabuza-sama."

"Did he issue a punishment?" Trying to get a straight answer out of Haku was like pulling teeth. While his evasiveness was good for interrogations, it was crap when Zabuza was trying to get Haku to tell him about his day.

"Yes, Zabuza-sama."

"What?" The exasperation was starting to leak through into his voice.

"Well, I have to-"

It was at this point that Zabuza got the same sense of foreboding that he always got when Kisame came over once a month or so and they did manly things like drink and play poker and lament their equally girly sidekicks. Last time it happened, though, Haku talked with that Weasel guy about hair tips, then the Weasel beat them both at poker, and Haku drank them all under the table. The next morning, Zabuza woke up next to Kisame with a distinctly fishy taste in his mouth. They both vowed never to speak of it again. Come to think of it, that was also the first time Haku had cooked for him. At the time, Zabuza had simply attributed the terrible taste to the fact that he was deeply hung over, but he was soon proven wrong on that account.

"-ook."

Oh, shit, Haku was saying something.

"What?"

Haku gave him a look.

"I said, Zabuza-sama, that I had to cook for the week, while the actual cook's hand heals."

There were many words Zabuza could have used in a situation like this. For convenience's sake, he combined them into a single word to properly express his emotions.

"Fushidakasdicbafunm." He babbled incoherently.

Maybe he could go back to Mist and apologize to the Mizukage. Prisons had food, didn't they?

-End-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zabuza realizes that most of his friends are geniuses plotting the Mizukage's downfall.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning in Mist. This far south the climate was practically tropical, and on really hot days, the humidity ended up causing more deaths by drowning than the river. But today was great, not too hot, not too cold, just chilly enough that Zabuza could curl underneath his sheets without overheating.

 

Except that he was.

 

Zabuza rolled over and almost crushed the soggy, fever-hot child curled up against his back. The kid whimpered and Zabuza jumped back. How the hell did a soggy, fever-warm, child end up in his house?

 

Zabuza quickly ran yesterday's events through his mind: wake up, train, eat, argue with Kisame, train, eat, mission, kill, find orphaned boy...

 

Oh, fuck. So that whole adoption for power scheme hadn't been a dream, then?

* * *

 

 It was a while later before the kid woke up with a gasp, sweaty and groggy with confusion. Zabuza slapped a hand over the kid's mouth as a precaution if the brat started screaming. It was standard procedure in hostage situations to cast a silencing jutsu, but Zabuza wasn't a medi-nin, and he didn't want to risk damage to the kid's vocal chords.

 

The boy glanced at him with wide, terrified eyes, and flinched back into the bedframe. There was a split second where Zabuza felt an icy cold in his palm, but the kid seemed to recognize him after that, and sank down into the kapok mattress.

 

“I'm gonna let go of your mouth. Don't scream.” Zabuza said, trying to keep the growl out of his voice. If the kid panicked and bolted, there was a chance that someone would report him, and Zabuza was too young to have a nine year old son. Something odd like that would result in some sort of investigation, and that would shit all over his plans for overthrowing the government.

 

The kid nodded, and Zabuza dropped his hand.

 

“There's food in the fridge. Don't try to leave the house. Don't puke on my sheets. I'll be back in six hours. We'll talk then.” He expected some form of protest, even the most obedient of soldiers would question a situation like this, but the kid just nodded and sat with his back against the bedframe.

 

Zabuza frowned at the kid, but grabbed his pack and scabbard from the floor. He gave the kid one last glance before slipping out of the window. Landing solidly on the scaffolding, Zabuza activated the series of traps designed to incapacitate any intruders. Hopefully, they would keep the kid in, too.

 

He couldn't shake the strange feeling he got from the kid. Maybe it was just trauma, but normal children didn't act like that. Then again, the kid was anything but a normal child. He glanced at his hand. Frostbite was leeching the warmth from the center of his palm. Scowling, he wrapped a few bandages around it.

 

Zabuza shook his head. He had genin to teach, distractions now would only lead to the brats ganging up on him and a slaughter that he would have to explain to their parents.

 

But first, a quick stop at Ameyuri's place. The Swordsman got pregnant a couple of years ago, and asking her for child-raising advice would probably be his best bet to not accidentally killing the kid. Although, bothering Ameyuri on her day off might lead to _his_ death, and well... good luck. It'd be really shitty if the other Swordsmen had to break into his house to get the summons forKubikiribōchō, and found a dead orphan in his bed. Hozuki Mangetsu would make some bad joke about pedophilia and Kisame would try to burn down his house to get rid of incriminating evidence about the coup. They would probably die from laughter and the Mist would be invaded and everyone would die from the Mizukage's shitty economic policy. 

 

Hurah.

* * *

 

There was only one good thing about taking on a genin team and that was the easy access to minions. Sure you could just pick a homeless orphan off the streets, but as Zabuza was quickly learning, taking care of a malnourished nine-year-old was harder than most S-Ranks.

 

Haku was still sleeping when he left, so he just tossed a couple of blankets over the kid and pulled out some field rations for him to eat. They weren't too bad, and they were cheap; the commissary discounted them to active shinobi.

 

He grabbed the Seversword, and slammed his door shut.

 

He really hated genin teams. While they were one of the few policies the current Mizukage put in place that Zabuza actually liked, he'd like them more if he didn't have to have one. But Kirigakure was so undermanned from the slaughters that used to be the graduation exams that everyone who was eligible to have a genin team was saddled with one. While Kohona produced soft weaklings, they still had a sizeable military force to wave around, so something in their shinobi training must have been working. This was awful, because it meant that both he and Kisame were given responsibility over children (or man-children, in Zabuza's case), and kids didn't get enough time from their teachers, because missions still needed to be kept up. And there weren't enough Hoshigaki Makos, who had been forbidden to teach children after she mostly raised Zabuza and he mostly killed a full generation of children, to keep up missions on their own. But, that was probably a good thing. Even one Hoshigaki Mako lowered the lifespans of everyone in the general vicinity.

 

Zabuza blinked, his musings had brought him to training ground #23. Good, but his genin weren't here. Less good. He checked his watch; it was 0800, they should have been here by now. A flash of movement caught his eye. He turned, his sword held up in a simple parry.

 

Hoshigaki Hanma stood there, dripping wet and holding a shark in a choke hold. Zabuza sighed and slide his sword back into its sheath. Hanma was the most tolerable of his three genin. She was also viciously bloodthirsty and made Kisame on a bad day look like a guppie on a good one. Luckily, she was only about as tall as his knees, couldn't climb trees, and couldn't mold chakra well enough to walk up them. Not that Zabuza would ever admit to hiding up a tree from a twelve year old.

 

Sighing, he channeled chakra to his feet and walked over to her. She was standing on a sandbar, small waves lapping at her feet.

 

“Hey, Hanma,” Zabuza growled. “how long have you been out here?”

 

“Tshree hourhs, sirh.” she lisped. Zabuza knew that all Hoshigaki went through a lisping phase in their tweens, due to the teeth, and, hell, he had been around Kisame before he grew into his teeth, but it had taken about a month before Zabuza could tell what Hanma was saying without asking her to repeat herself at least twice.

 

“Drop the shark, kid. We've got a D-rank today, and if the two idiots don't show up, you won't finish by dark.”

 

Hanma nodded excitedly, her curly pigtails smacking against her hitai-ate. She dropped the shark, which then swam away in fear, and she stomped through the water back to land. Zabuza caught her by the collar of her dress before she could stomp in over her head, he knew she could hold her breath longer than he could, but old habits died hard, and dragged her back to the shore.

 

His two other idiots were standing on the sandy beach. Their stupid respirators were gently hissing as they breathed, always in sync. It was fucking annoying.

 

“Hullo, sir!” Meizo chirped... at least Zabuza thought it was a chirp; he couldn't tell much from the heavy gasps of the respirator. The genin's twin slumped beside him.

 

“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”

 

Meizo frowned and at least tried to look sad, but Gozu just scowled all the harder. Zabuza kicked him into a bush as he walked past.

 

“Alright, brats, I've got a D-rank for you. Namen Estuary flooded again and a small infestation of barnacles started in one of the filter-turbines. Get rid of them by sunset and the owner is offering five hundred ryo each, and you get to keep whatever you catch.”

 

Hanma and Meizo nodded enthusiastically, and Gozu grunted in assent. Zabuza suspected that most of Gozu's moodiness was some late onset of puberty, or perhaps the fact that he was being taught by a man a year older than him who outranked him so vastly. Why Meizo was never such a dick about it Zabuza would never know; Gozu was never as bad as his twin. Well, Gozu was more interested in talking about make up with Hanma than in picking fights, so maybe he was just treating being on a genin team as being back in school, and free from adult responsibility. Hell, Zabuza sometimes wished he was back on a genin team. Genin didn't get missions to stop riots three days after the fact so the government still looked like it was trying to do something about the genocides.

 

He grabbed the handle of the Kubikiribōchō, a nervous habit bread from too many years of active combat, and marched off towards the Estuary, his team following him like ducklings.

* * *

It was just beginning to get dark by the time he managed to clock the last of the training hours his team needed for the week. He had dropped Hanma off at the Hoshigaki compound (she was twelve and if he could just pick an orphan off the street, someone else probably could too, and they wouldn't have to answer to the clan matron) saluted vaguely and headed home, jumping along the power lines. Sometimes he regretted living so far away from the standard jounin barracks, but the distance was worth it to keep himself from falling into another murderous rage. The child psychologist they assigned him at nine said his rampage was brought on by proximity. The Mizukage was more than willing to foot the bill to keep his jounin alive, and Hoshigaki Mako had already offered an old house at the edges of the village.

 

He landed lightly on the edge of the porch and pulled the door open. Having an old-fashioned clan-built house as a residence meant that he got a nice traditional styled home, which he hated. It took too much matinice to keep a teak house in good condition. He had to scrub down the wood with oil once a month, and the cloth sliding doors needed to be replaced at least twice a year. It was a fuck-ton of work that e could have been devoting to training. But, all that work meant that he knew if there was someone in his house who shouldn't have been by judging the marks left in the wax of the door. He pulled open the door and pinned Kisame to the wall with Kubikiribōchō without thinking about it.

 

The other man blinked once. “You're out of milk.”

 

“I'm lactose-intolerant and you know that. Why are you in my house?” Zabuza didn't sheathe the sword.

 

“I'm sure you're aware both pedophilia and kekkei genkai are discouraged by the government.”

 

“The kid isn't here because I want to fuck him, Kisame.” Zabuza let the sword drop to the floor and stepped back. Kisame shouldered past him into the kitchen. The kid was sitting at the table, drinking a cup of orange juice. Zabuza hadn't bought orange juice.

 

“Kisame, if you purchased anything on my tab, I'm cutting off your pinky.”

 

The man flipped him off and sat at the table across from the kid.

 

Zabuza pulled out a chair and slowly sat down. The table was silent; the kid stopped drinking his orange juice and was looking between them nervously.

 

“Is he for the coup?” Kisame had a way of acting like a complete idiot until he needed to be smart, and then he could piece tiny bits of information together perfectly. Underestimation was one of the important parts of a good shinobi's resources, and if all of his enemies thought Kisame was a hulking blue idiot, then all the better for him. They would come to regret it when the Swordsman pulled apart their jutsu and turned their own powers against them. Zabuza just wished he would stop pulling out the genius card when delicate plans were in the making.

 

“Kid,” he said, ignoring Kisame's question; the bastard knew the answer already. “what's your name?”

 

The kid stared blankly at him, shuffling the glass back and forth between his tiny palms. 

 

“...Haku.” he mumbled.

 

Zabuza glanced at Kisame. The other Swordsman raised an eyebrow, and quickly flashed the hand sign for 'lie' at him. Zabuza signed 'brain damage?' off to the side, out of the ki- Haku's line of sight. Kisame shrugged.

 

“How old are you?” When dealing with possible cranial trauma, it was important to gauge how much the victim remembered. As a bonus, it would give Zabuza a measure of how much he could expect from the- Haku; if the boy was too young to have attended academy, it would just take that much longer to train him.

 

“I don't know.” Haku looked halfway to a breakdown. He was shaking, his brown eyes focused off in the distance. He was probably remembering flashes of the attempted genocide.

 

“Haku.” Zabuza snapped his fingers. The kid looked at him. “Calm down. You're tired. Go to bed.”

 

The kid nodded, and shuffled upstairs. Kisame waited until the door shut before fixing a shit-eating grin on his face.

 

“I didn't think you could handle a near panic attack, brat.”

 

“Therapist did the same for me after the graduation incident. How did you know he was lying?”

 

Kisame snorted and grabbed two beers from Zabuza's icebox before taking Haku's vacated seat.

 

“He kept glancing around before he said it. Probably picked 'Haku' because your kitchen walls are white. Where did you find him?”

 

“Up north. The Mizukage is still trying to pretend he cares about the genocides and that the government doesn't encourage them. Found him on a bridge.”

 

Kisame was silent for a while. 

 

“Don't let him out of your sight. If anyone asks, he's your cousin.” Before Zabuza had a chance to protest, Kisame stood up, taking his beer, and let the house.

 

“Bastard.” Zabuza called after him. He stood up, and glanced at the clock. It was 2304. There was still time to run down to the juvenile center and grab a packet of adoption forms. The kid had better be worth it.

* * *

“So let me get this straight.” Kisame said.” You adopted an illegal child?”

 

“Yes.” Zabuza grunted, swinging the Seversword around to block Kisame's attack.

 

Kisame leaped backwards, out of range. “And you have no idea how to raise him?”

 

“I asked Ameyuri for advice.” Zabuza ran at the other Swordsman, blade held low to the ground. He brought the sword up, and Kisame parried it neatly with the Samehada. The two swords locked together, scraping as the two men pushed against each other.

 

“How badly did she hurt you?” Kisame smirked from behind his Greatsword.

 

“Not too badly,” Zabuza dug his heels into the wet dirt. “I think I only seized for a minute or two. Anyways, she didn't know anything about keeping a kid alive.”

 

“Heh, you ought to ask Ma. That'd fix your kid up, if she doesn't end up killing him.” Kisame shoved back against Zabuza. It was so extremely unfair that Kisame was stronger than him, and even with his feet dug into the dirt, Zabuza was still slowly sliding backwards.

 

“Is your mom still alive?” Zabuza grunted.

 

Kisame looked thoughtful for a second. “Not sure. I got a postcard from her a couple of months ago. My niece ate her brother, and Ma is thinking of naming her heir.”

 

“Cute.” Zabuza's legs were starting to get tired. It wasn't real sparing that they were doing, just a silly pissing contest, but Zabuza would be damned if he gave before Kisame, and vice versa. Once, they had stayed at a standstill for a whole night, until Kushimaru found them and stitched them together with the Nuibari. All of the other Swordsmen were too busy laughing to help, so they had to wander until they found a civilian who knew enough about sewing to cut them apart. That had been a long fourteen hours, but at least the civie promised to keep quiet. On top of that, on Tuesdays when they weren't working, the old woman invited them over for cake and fixed their clothes. Zabuza jolted out of his reminiscing when Kisame managed to gain another centimeter on him.

 Zabuza met Kisame's eyes. The game was fucking on.

* * *

 

“Ki-sa-me!” Only Hoshigaki Mako could make drawing her son's (rather silly) name into three syllables sound like a castration threat. As it was, the Hoshigaki matron already had a voice that made most adults piss themselves in fear, and the last time she'd dropped it to a growl like this, old Hozuki Furui had a heart attack. His son, the new clan head after his father's permanent retirement, was so happy that he promised his brother to her in marriage. How Kisame was conceived with both parties retaining all of their limbs was a question that had (unfortunately) haunted Zabuza's mind since he met the Swordsman's parents.

 

Kisame flinched. Turning around slowly, he cracked a wide, uneven smile.

 

“Hey, Ma,” he said. Kisame trying to hunch and hide behind a tiny orphan would have been funny in any other circumstance, but Zabuza was half-raised by Hoshigaki Mako. Any sort of shield between her and her target was desirable. “how are you?”

 

“Fine, good, lovely,” With each word, she took another step closer to Kisame, who backed away in turn. Another step or two and he would be in danger of plowing over Zabuza. “Ya' gonna tell me why ya' didn't even think ta-” she glanced down. Haku was standing there, looking small and big-eyed, and totally defenseless. Zabuza felt something like heartburn. Two days in and his weapon was going to be eaten by Kisame's old lady. His life was just one giant universal conspiracy, wasn't it?

 

“Hello, Hoshigaki-san.” Haku said quietly, dipping into a polite bow.

 

Mako's eyes widened to comic proportions. Her gaze flicked between the kid, Kisame, and Zabuza. Samehada let out a whimper.

 

“Brat,” she turned sharply to face Kisame. “if ya knocked up some-”

 

“He isn't mine, Ma!” Kisame wailed.

 

“Zabuza-kun?”

 

“No, ma'am.” Zabuza stared off into some middle distance, not willing to meet the Jonin's eyes.

 

Kneeling down, she was still about twice Haku's height, but she was low enough that she could grab his chin and turn his head this way and that.

 

“Ah know ya, kid?” She sat back on her haunches.

 

“I do not believe so, Hoshigaki-san.”

 

Mako gave him a long look, her grey eyes widening. She grinned, revealing rows and rows of sharp, shiny teeth. “Nice ta meet ya.” She ruffled his hair and stepped past him to Zabuza.

 

“Zabuza-kun,” she growled softly, grabbing his arm and yanking him out from behind Kisame. “we need ta talk.”

 

Zabuza looked up at the woman. She knew. She knew and this was awful and he was going to be eaten. Well, Zabuza was faster than her, maybe he could get away.

 

“Kisame, watch the kid.”

 

Kisame nodded, clearly suspicious. Next to him, Haku was staring at Zabuza, his dark eyes narrowed in thought. Mako gestured at him, and Zabuza dismissed the Kubikiribōchō, and followed after her.

 

She lead him around the village, taking the roundabout way to training ground #16, one of the less used training areas. Hoshigaki Mako stormed across the land to stand in the middle of the ocean channel that bisected the training area.

 

“Yar lucky that the kid takes after his da.”

 

Zabuza would have flinched if he wasn't an assassin trained from birth to mask his emotions.

 

“Ah met the Yuki clan once. Ya can spot them from a mile, bright blond hair and pitch black eyes. Has he got a kekkei genkai?”

 

“What happens if I tell you?” His fingers twitched imperceptibly. He could summon his sword in less than a half-second, but Mako had led them onto the water, and Zabuza could see the dark, blurry shadows of her shark summons circling him under the surface.

 

“That depends on ya. Why did ya take tha kid? Don' lie and tell me that ya cared about tha kid's fate. Ah raised ya. Ah know what ya used ta do ta strays.”

 

“I plan to overthrow the Yondaime Mizukage.”

 

The other jonin raised an eyebrow.

 

“That's some treasonous talk, Zabuza-kun. Ah'm a loyal shinobi of Kirigakurage, telling me things like that could be dangerous for ya.”

 

“If you protested it, then why did you drag me all the way out here to talk? I know Kisame isn't the idiot he acts like, and he sure as hell didn't get it from his father. If you didn't agree with me, the kid and I'd both be dead.”

 

“Ya're less stupid than ya look, but Ah fail ta see a reality where yer coup succeeds. Yah're strong, but to kill ahr beloved Yondaime, yah'd need an army. One orphan ain't enough ta take on a herd of loyalists and all tha terrified civies he can muster up. Besides, what happens if tha kid 'members his roots. What if he doesn't agree with ya plan?”

 

“The kid, he can't remember,” Zabuza ran a hand through his short hair. “I mean, he knows _nothing_. I'm pretty sure he made his name up, and I'd peg him at about nine, but he doesn't remember that. He can hardly read, can't write, and his memory with words is pretty shit. And he can't remember how he got to the bridge, and he doesn't remember his parents. But, fuck, Hoshigaki-san, I went back alone after I brought him home, and there were at least fifteen corpses there, all with damage from the Hyouton. He hasn't had much training, if any at all; he doesn't hold himself right. But he has _power_. And I can use that.”

 

“But is he loyal ta ya?”

 

“If I asked, he'd kill himself without a single question.”

 

“Then,” Mako smiled, showing too many teeth. “we might have a deal.”

 


End file.
